


The Pastiche

by ilovewrighting



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Will thinks he's the only one to survive the fall, so he plans a memorial of sorts for Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 21:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18454598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovewrighting/pseuds/ilovewrighting
Summary: Will looked up and down the bank looking for any sign that his partner could still be alive. Any sign that Hannibal was still breathing and hadn’t been swept away forever by the roiling waves. Will's heart sank deeper in the ocean the longer he looked…Nothing..As Bedelia gradually swam to consciousness, it immediately occurred to her that things had slipped wildly out of her control.





	The Pastiche

**Author's Note:**

> Pastiche (n.) an artistic work in a style that imitates that of another work or artist.

Will slowly seeped toward awareness. He felt sick, heavy and miserable. There was a pounding in his head and although he also felt sleepy, his heart was hammering away in his chest. He realized he had washed up onshore. Shore was less of shore, and more of sandy, grassy, messy overgrown hideaway. 

In bits and pieces, Will could remember Dolarhyde. He could remember the great dragon, and his own becoming, his partnership with Hannibal. After only a few moments of consciousness, Will could relive in technicolor detail, the evening and attack from the dragon. 

Will could remember himself and Hannibal becoming one. He could remember the reckoning. He could remember just how beautiful it was. His memory began to get foggy thinking about himself and Hannibal gripped onto each other, like liferafts in the sea. 

He scrambled to his feet and spun around, looking for any sign of Hannibal. Will looked up and down the bank looking for any sign that his partner could still be alive. Any sign that Hannibal was still breathing and hadn’t been swept away forever by the roiling waves. His heart sank deeper in the ocean the longer he looked.

Nothing. 

Will searched up and down the shore for hours, stumbling around, looking too hard and angry at every little duck and fish that made a ripple in the water. 

Eventually, he limped back up to the safe house. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired, so sore, so miserable. He couldn’t remember feeling such intense loss. Even with Abigail. This was different. Entirely different. He felt an ache in his stomach. A hole he didn’t know would ever ache quite like this. 

He and Hannibal hadn’t explicitly said the words to each other. Had they? Will felt regret seep into his bones with the sea water. Their metaphors were beautiful and all but here, now, with Will up here alone, the words they'd spoken felt hollow. 

He should have been more honest. But, on second thought, Hannibal could always read him like a book. The more Will thought, the more sure he was that Hannibal knew how he felt. Even still, Will felt like he could do something for Hannibal. He felt he should pay homage, to his partner and his teacher.

For one month, Will studied with Chiyoh. Together they planned their revenge on Hannibal’s behalf. 

On the thirtieth day, Will would be able to have his memorial. He would be able to find peace with his partner’s death only after he was able to have a true service for him.

With Chiyoh’s help, Will was able to kill a few people and practice what they had both learned from Hannibal. For his service, Hannibal's memorial, Will wanted everything to be perfect. There couldn’t be a spot out of place, anything done wrong. It would have to be impeccable. Worthy of Hannibal. 

When the day arrived, Will could sense Chiyoh’s nerves. 

She was acting quite different, a little bit off. Upon further inspection, Will found that she was tearing at her nails, a nervous tic she sometimes exhibited. 

“Nervous?” Will asked. 

“Anxious.” Chiyoh replied. 

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Will asked, a little murmur to his voice. He always tried to be soft with Chiyoh. Soft, yet not weak; like Hannibal. 

“Sisters, I think. Similar, but each unique.” Chiyoh insisted.

Will nodded. “I think we should set a place for Hannibal at the table tonight,” 

Chiyoh’s eyebrows raised. “Of course, Will. I think that’s a wonderful idea.” 

.

As Bedelia gradually swam to consciousness, it immediately occurred to her that things had slipped wildly out of her control. 

It was not just because she was tied to a chair. No. That was one factor, sure, but there was also the fact that her leg was... missing. As her tired eyes lifted, she felt her stomach lurch. There upon the table, was her leg, roasted, and seasoned with beautiful garnishes. 

Bedelia felt anger and terror rise up inside her. She squirmed against the bonds, moreso out of spite than anything else. 

She was alone in the elaborate dining room, but just by the taste in decor, Bedelia could sense that she was in Hannibal’s space. The fancy wall sconces, the candles burning, adding unnecessary ambiance to a table set for four. Her eyes traveled all over the room searching for a way out, some way to escape before Hannibal was alerted to her consciousness. It was no use, there was nothing of use, and she soon heard footsteps. 

Her eyes widened as none other than Will Graham entered from the next room. 

“Hello, Bedelia.” Will greeted in warm tones that sounded so much like Hannibal that they sparked goosebumps on her skin. 

“Where is your… partner?” Bedelia asked, breathily. 

“He and I have been temporarily separated. But you are going to help bring me closer to him, tonight,” Will suggested as he stepped closer to Bedelia. “This was a trick he used with Abel Gideon. So to pay him homage we are recreating it. Think of this as a pastiche.” 

Bedelia resisted the urge to huff a laugh. Nothing about this situation was remotely funny. Instead she spat on the table. “Couldn’t pick one, could you Will? Kill him or keep him?” 

Will’s fingers itched. Instead of indulging himself, he called to Chiyoh. 

“Never mind your nonsense. We had a moment together. A reckoning.” Will said, threateningly. His voice wavered, lower than Bedelia had ever heard it. “My becoming.” 

“Your becoming? You experienced it together, hmm? Before he finally succumbed?” Bedelia prompted. “Quite a tragic love story,”

“It was my becoming, but it was also our becoming. But now I’m here and he’s not. So to tie up loose ends, and do something he would have done… here you are.” Will said. “A shared moment in honor of Hannibal’s memory,”

Wondering where Chiyoh was, Will called out for her again.

Turning toward the kitchen, he felt the air punched out his lungs. “Hannibal?...” As his hands reached out, he second guessed himself. Will wondered for a second if he was a mirage, or a hallucination. So long of not trusting his own mind had worn down his confidence in his surroundings. 

“I’m quite proud of all you’ve accomplished in my absence, Will,” Hannibal slurred, low and hot.

Will staggered. He gripped the end of the table, feeling like his legs were about to buckle underneath him. 

“You’ve done a fine job. Let us finish this? And we can partake in this wonderful feast you’ve created for us.” Hannibal suggested, easily as if he’d been there all along.

Will really did drop into a chair then. “You’re really here? Why did you leave?” He asked. “I thought…. I thought you were gone. How could you do that to me, Hannibal?” Will begged. 

Hannibal approached Will, weak and boneless in the chair at the head of the table, opposite Bedelia. His hand reached to cup Will’s cheek, and instead of flinching away, Will nuzzled into it. 

“I needed to know you were serious, Will.” Hannibal said, not really sounding repentant. 

“You were dead, Hannibal…” Will muttered. 

“This is darling, and all...” Bedelia started and two sets of fiery eyes snapped to her. 

“If I were you I’d keep my mouth shut, Bedelia.” Will bit back. 

She looked up to the ceiling and let her head drop back against the chair without more protesting.

“You’ve proven yourself worthy, Will.” Hannibal said, slowly, his voice low and rasping. “Not that my doubts were ever more than little flecks of my imagination.” Will wanted to lean into him, never lean away from him again. “I only hope I’ve similarly proven myself,” 

Will stood, his hands heavy on his knees. After a long moment of loaded, heavy eye contact between himself and Hannibal, Will asked. “Shall we?” 

Together, they approached Bedelia. “Would you like to do the honors, Will?” Hannibal asked, his knife outstretched, hilt side out to Will. 

“Gladly.” He replied and took the knife. 

As Hannibal held her neck straight, Will hovered over her. “This is for being Frankenstein’s Bride.” Will muttered, and sliced in one fluid motion. Blood over flowed, poured out from Bedelia’s neck, running down the elegant gown and onto the floor. 

“Wonderful, Will.” Hannibal praised. He approached, savoring the way Will’s hands no longer shook, although they were specked with blood. 

“You were a rather unique teacher,” Will deflected, and Hannibal wondered if he spotted a flush rising to Will’s cheeks at their flirting instead of at the rush of adrenaline that comes from ending the life of another. 

“You have done much beyond my lessons. You have gotten quite the imagination of your own, now, my special Will.” Hannibal said, again feeling in awe of Will’s growth. 

“I would be nothing without you.” Will said, softly. Pretenses aside, Will stared openly at Hannibal’s lips. They twitched up at the corner, noticing Will’s attention. 

“Not quite true, is it? You were a good man, an upstanding FBI agent before I came along,” Hannibal hummed, ushering Will to him with open arms. 

“Hmm…” Will hummed, placing his hands into Hannibal’s open palms. “That’s also not altogether true.” He cocked an eyebrow at Hannibal as he fell against his chest. 

Hannibal settled then, taking a deep, full breath of Will. They each huffed a little laugh, a small chuckle in the quiet dining room. Chiyoh came in and they separated a little. 

“I made you and Hannibal two plates before bringing the rest out here. They’re in the kitchen, set up on the warmer.” Chiyoh explained. “Let me take care of Bedelia and you go on and eat.” 

“Thank you for everything, Chiyoh.” Will smiled, deeply happy.

“You’ve been a powerful ally, Chiyoh, a million thanks.” Hannibal agreed, pressing a tender kiss against her cheek. 

Will and Hannibal ate at the kitchen counter. Will continued to stare at Hannibal as if he were fit to disappear again. 

“Why don't you take a picture, William?” Hannibal eventually teased when he felt his cheeks get hot. He’d caught Will staring more times than he could count now. 

It was an unsettling feeling to have someone in his life again who could give him that little tug of embarrassment, someone who could elicit a blush. Hannibal hadn’t cared too much for anything in a long, long time. That was, until Will came along.

“I’m just still in shock.” Will uttered, pushing his food around in his plate. 

Hannibal eyed the way he played with his food but decided to pick his battles with Will tonight. “I find it nearly impossible to believe that you are finding my return so difficult to swallow.” 

“I’m not used to things working out for me.” Will said sadly, not meeting Hannibal’s gaze. “It felt poetic, it felt like the ending I deserved. When you died, I mean. It just felt… It felt real. This. You.” Will gestured, suddenly to Hannibal. “This feels like a dream. It feels unreal.” 

“Let’s make it feel more real then, shall we?”

Tilting Will's chin up, Hannibal pressed a chaste kiss to his partner's mouth. Will’s lips pressed back, immediately desperate for more. 

“Dolarhyde was just the beginning.” Will muttered, intoxicated with the closeness. “The world… it's ours.”

“Such fine words, Will. Whatever you want, we shall have.” He promised, reverently. 

Will leaned up on tip toes and kissed Hannibal, deeper this time.

“I have everything I want.” Will replied. 

Hannibal hummed, pleased and secured Will's lips to his. “I'm sure I'll find something else you might want.” He teased in a breathy whisper. 

Will rose to take the bait. “What might that something be?” He asked, lips brushing, barely hovering above Hannibal's. 

“Let me show you,” Hannibal sighed. His hands covered Will's hips and they kissed as if they were never going to take another breath. 

Will felt faint. Breaking apart to breathe, Hannibal's strong fingers still dug into Will's hips. The younger man groaned at the feeling and Hannibal's flaring eyes. 

“I think I'm starting to see,” Will whispered, his shaking fingers pulling Hannibal ever closer. 

In the morning, Hannibal woke Will with the gentle press of lips to temple. 

“Good morning,” Will groaned and stretched his arms over his head. 

Hannibal had never imagined the easy way Will's skin, stretched lean over his hip bones, would look like he’d always belonged amongst Hannibal’s bedsheets. For a moment Hannibal imagined etching him from stone, from marble, in this self same pose. He imagined staring at Will in this moment for as long as it took to memorize it, to recreate it as a piece of art. 

The tuft of curly hair smattered over Will’s body only looked soft and pleasant. His nipples were perked up in the cool morning air and Hannibal itched to taste them as he had the night before. He narrowly restrained himself and pressed his lips to Will’s pretty pink mouth instead. 

Hannibal couldn’t imagine ever getting over the sweet press of Will’s lips against his. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the way Will’s hips pressed forward, seemingly of their own volition. He couldn’t fathom ever getting used to the soft hum in Will’s throat when Hannibal did something he liked just a little too much. 

Instead of all the decidedly romantic things swarming Hannibal’s love drunk brain, he said. “You look radiant,” 

The younger man laughed, a bright, wholesome, genuine smile taking over his face. 

Unable to hold it in any longer, Hannibal blurted out. “I can’t live without you, Will. Not anymore.” 

Will closed the distance this time, kissing Hannibal with three years of unspoken meaning and companionship. “So don’t.” 

“...Will you stay?” Hannibal asked, quietly, sounding more unsure than Will had ever heard him.

“Of course. We’re partners, now,” Will said easily, in reply, and leaned in to close the distance this time. He pressed a chaste kiss against Hannibal’s pursed lips. 

Whatever lay ahead of them, they would face it together.


End file.
